


spellwork 101

by thanks_tacos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, Eventual relationship, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Witch Castiel, Witch's Familiar Dean Winchester, no it's not slow burn idk what it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanks_tacos/pseuds/thanks_tacos
Summary: After a solo hunt gone wrong, Dean never expected to see the light again. But now, he's living in Louisiana with a hot, blue-eyed witch, and as Cas starts exploiting him for spells, he decides he doesn't mind being exploited, like, not at all. He barely has time to process what the vamps did to him in the past six months, cause Cas teaches him how to let go, in all the creative ways.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 63





	spellwork 101

Dean sits on the porch, drinking his beer and staring ahead, at the dark swamps. It's hot and sticky, the air heavy, mosquitos dancing around each other and moths circling the bright overhead lamp, the only source of light.

Dean likes it. He likes the quiet, likes the dark unknown just beyond the steps of the porch, likes the occasional gators that swim up close to the dirt road, sometimes even flank its sides. He likes going to the city in the beat-up jeep, tires always muddy, and driving between the miles of still, swamp water.

Evenings like these, it's almost easy to forget that he's a prisoner here.

'Dean!' his  _ master  _ calls out, and Dean scoffs at the word his brain uses. He's not master, he's just some regular guy who happens to know magic. Who happens to have saved Dean from the vampire lair. Who offered him a deal.

_ agree to be my familiar for life, and you'll be free. _

Dean stretches, his joints popping, and steps inside the house. He knows he can't get flat out drunk while they're “working”, but Cas doesn't seem to mind a few beers here and there.  _ He  _ doesn't drink, though.

Dean closes the screen door, hoping not too many mosquitos will get inside, and knowing it's futile. He has itchy bites all over his body and he hates the nights; it's steaming  _ hot  _ in his bedroom, like  _ hellfire  _ hot, so it's always a choice between being cooked alive under the blankets or feeling like someone rolled him in itching powder all day. He's only lived here for two weeks and he hasn't slept a full night since.

'Have you seen the large blue vial I usually keep in the bottom drawer?'

The weird thing about Cas, Dean thinks, is that everything about him is so  _ soft _ . Dean has a long history of blood and darkness; monster guts splattered across his clothes, broken bones, seedy motels with stained sheets, abandoned warehouses, splinters and sharp glass. For years now, since dad died, he barely even registered the outside world, too stuck in the cycle of track-kill-repeat. Until the vamps caught him, and he spent six months as a glorified blood bag, in a pitch black cell, feeling more dead than ever. When a witch offered him a way out, Dean expected more of the same; a shady, wrecked hut in the middle of nowhere, animal skulls, disgusting smells and substances with no Clorox in sight.

Instead, everything Cas owns is so well-loved. The thick mismatched carpets, the photographs on the walls; the clustered kitchen-slash-spellroom, where he works. His clothes and his books, and his Bluetooth speaker that plays a mix of rock and folk and eerie music in a language Dean can't even identify.

The place is clean, mostly modern, homey. It's warm and inviting. When Dean discovered the huge HD TV in Cas's barely used living room, he was ecstatic. Cas gave him the guest bedroom, and the bed is so soft, the covers feel like they were washed a hundred times, the blanket smells like lavender. Dean feels safe there, and normally he doesn't feel safe anywhere, ever.

He expected to be treated like a slave. He was ready to spend years trying to kill the witch, to escape, to break whatever bond they have and beat him to death with his fists, if he'd have to. But so far, there's no need.

Cas treats him with respect and doesn't want almost anything from him. Organizing his stuff, sometimes, picking up some ingredients from town, looking for a specific spell in a book. Cooking dinner on the busier days. It's no hard work. Most of the time, he leaves Dean alone. They barely interact, and when they do, it's... comfortable.

'I don't know,' Dean replies to the question about the vial. It's been a few days since he bent down to organize the bottles and the vials, true, and Cas blasts through them like a goddamn hurricane, also true. Dean doesn't know what it means, being a familiar, cause up till now it just feels like Cas could've used a maid.

'It was here just yesterday,' Cas looks upset, and he sits down on the floor to look through the bottles again. They don't all have labels, so Dean's always wary when he puts them back, and tries not to look through the glass; who knows what kind of creepy radioactive shit could be inside? Cas told him to wear gloves doing that, but yeah, no.

'I don't know, man, I sure haven't used it,' Dean shrugs. 'You have a bunch of blue vials in there.'

Cas frowns up at him, and now he looks pissed. The spell he needs it for is probably important. Dean remembers when last week, he tripped and broke a small jar of something that stank so much, he had to go cough in the corridor until Cas went in and cleaned it up. Dean  _ was  _ sorry about that one, kind of expecting the witch to unleash his magical wrath, but Cas just put his hand on Dean's arm - getting pretty  _ familiar _ , Dean thought - and said: 'It is quite alright. You're learning.'

Looks like he decided Dean should've learned by now.

'Your job,' he says, now, getting up and putting his hands on his hips. 'Is to know the contents of this cupboard.'

'How the fuck should I know that?' Dean snarls, taking a protective stance. 'You don't exactly keep an encyclopedia of this shit. I don't even know what's in any of these!'

'Perhaps if you spent more time trying to familiarize the contents of the vials instead of the contents of a beer bottle, it would've paid off,' Cas snaps, and alright. Dean takes a faltering step back, waiting to be turned into a toad or something. 'You took the deal, Dean, so I expect you to put in some work.'

'Well then teach me!' Dean throws his hands up. 'All I see is a bunch of toxic waste!'

Castiel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. A woman wails from the Bluetooth speaker, and somehow, it really fits the mood.

'This was a mistake,' Cas says, and sounds defeated. 'I - I have given you books. Instructions. They're up in your room, I told you that the day you arrived.'

Of all things, Dean feels  _ hurt  _ when Cas admits it's a mistake. The leather bracelet he wears as a sign of belonging seems to pulse. He remembers Castiel, the tall man in a trench coat, in the rectangle of blinding light - the door to his cell.

'Take as much as you want,' the vamp said, and Castiel knelt down next to Dean, filthy and pale and weak Dean, cowering in the corner. Dean remembers Cas looking much more cleaner and stronger than anyone who visited him in months. He remembers baring his teeth at him, readying for an attack like a feral animal. But Cas just frowned at him, seeming puzzled and sad.

'You're here against your will,' he said. Dean almost laughed at that, but the sound that came out of his mouth was harsh, grating and unhuman. 'You're hurt.'

'Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?' Dean rasped, his voice painful, scraped raw. He still looked daring, he thinks, he hopes - and Castiel nodded once, twice, setting his mouth in a line like he'd just made a decision.

'Agree to be my familiar for life, and you'll be free,’ he said.

Dean didn't understand why he couldn't have just bought him and freed him without the deal, or something. But he understood minutes later, when Castiel took a deep breath and produced a sharp knife from the inside of his coat. Dean backed into the corner, making a pathetic sound like a whimper, but Castiel just soothed him:

'Do not fret. No harm will come to you.'

And he chopped off his own pinkie.

'What the fuck-' Dean said, dumbfounded, looking at the blood flowing from where Cas's entire  _ finger  _ had been, looking at him digging through his pockets to retrieve some junk that looked like leaves and twigs and whatnot. Cas chanted above it, and he looked like he was having a stroke all the way through it.

'You'll have to carry me,' he told Dean who stared at him in shock, and then something blasted from the floor and covered the world in blue light.

When Dean blinked and it was dark again, Cas was slumped on the floor, and outside, all the vampires were dead.

Dean had never seen anything, anyone so powerful to do anything like that. Cas wiped out all the monsters with just one spell, and it almost killed him. He didn't have to save Dean. He could've taken his blood that he came for in the first place and left, like so many before him. Hunter's blood was in high demand, as it turned out.

Now, he looks at Cas's left hand. There's a big scar and a whole lot of empty where his finger once was. And in front of Cas, there's an entire man, clothed and showered and full of blood that he gets to keep. Dean Winchester, saved by a witch.

Maybe he owes it to Cas to at least read a damn book.

'Please just leave,' the witch sighs. Apparently Dean's been having his flashbacks for too long, standing in the kitchen-slash-spellroom, staring at his hand. 'Go get some sleep.'

Dean wants to say something, but he's not one for apologies. Instead, he nods, and disappears to his room, feeling overwhelmed by the safety it always provides. The rare hours of sleep he gets - there are no nightmares.

The mosquitos already buzz above him, so he doesn't close the window. Probably would've smothered to death, anyway. He turns on a brass desk lamp and picks one of the heavy tomes Cas has left him. There are drawings, each separate container described along with its usual contents, and after Dean studies them, they don't look so similar after all. Now, he can easily tell the difference between the green ones; four-leaf clover, peppermint (disappointingly  _ boring _ ), gator's foot ( _ ew _ ) and tarantula's legs wrapped in moss (absolutely disgusting, but cool).

It doesn't say what spells it works with, and that's fine by Dean. He figured Cas wouldn't have wanted him to know any magic, not that Dean'd perform it. Deep down, he still feels like he should treat Cas like an enemy. He's a witch, a natural one at that, so never fully human. But - Dean thought he was gonna die in that lair. He thought they were gonna bleed him dry someday soon, take everything and leave an empty husk. And even without dad, even with Sam away and not on speaking terms, he still wanted to live.

And this house, this... bond, it ain't half bad.

  
  


'Dean?'

Dean wakes with a start and looks up, squinting in the sunlight assaulting his face from the kitchen window.

'Huh?' he asks. He feels incoherent. 'What?'

'What are you doing?'

Cas stands in the doorway, looking surprised. Dean glances around, winces and tests his jaw. He fell asleep on the open book and now there's a nicely sized spot of drool on the page.

'All your shit is sorted,' he says, waving towards the cabinets. 'I know what's up and stuff. Got you some sticky notes, though. Think that's better than knowing it by heart. You're not getting any younger.'

Castiel nods seriously.

'I am several hundred years old,' he states like it's a normal thing, like it doesn't stop the cogs whirring in Dean's head with an attempt to plan an efficient route to the coffee maker. Cas, meantime, opens the drawers and smiles widely. Dean's heart does something weird, like a squeeze or a... somersault. 'Thank you, Dean. This looks marvelous.'

'Several  _ hundred  _ years old?!' Dean almost yells, feeling a little - a lot - panicked. 'I thought you were thirty-something!'

Cas frowns.

'I apologize for misleading you, but I have been around for a significant amount of time,' he replies.

'The cowboys,' is the first thing, yes, really, the first thing that comes to Dean's mind. 'You seen the cowboys?'

'Yes,' Castiel smiles fondly. 'Though it was not my favourite era, I enjoyed having my own ranch. I miss the horses.'

Dean gapes at him. He waits for the punchline, for a laugh, but there's none. Just a, 'Coffee?'

'What the fuck, man, Jesus, wait, the photos - the photos in the lobby, that's not your grand-grand-grandfather, that's-'

'Me,' Castiel nods.

Dean feels like Cas  _ must  _ be lying. About being a witch, about being a super fucking senile witch, cause he just looks so - so regular. His dark hair is always messy - so messy that sometimes, Dean feels like running a hand through it, just for practical reasons, of course, cause it's gotta be getting in his eyes, for sure - and he wears big black hipster glasses when he's reading. His blue eyes are perpetually surprised, kind of not-there, and he wears soft, ridiculous sweaters or band t-shirts. Dean tries to think of a universe where a person who wears a sweater with a horse's head and "Carrot" spelled under it - no other explanation, nothing - is the same person who wears an AC/DC shirt that hugs their lean body in all the right places.

Okay, but then again, Dean did see him blow up the entire vampire lair.

'Why me?' he asks, because it's been bugging him for days. 'Seriously, man, you just went there to get a sample of hunter's blood for a spell. Why'd you bust me out?'

'I needed a new familiar,' Cas replies, shrugging, and pours them both some coffee from a shiny, steel coffee pot.

'Yeah, but why  _ me _ ,' Dean insists. 'There's thousands of people who would be better fit for this job.'

Cas sighs.

'Well, once I saw you in the lair, I didn’t want to leave you there. You were in a pathetic state.'

Dean gasps, furious.

'So it was pity?! I don't need that bullshit, man-'

'It was  _ not  _ pity,' Castiel whirls around to him, and Dean almost flinches. He looks angry. 'My previous familiar has betrayed me a while ago. I thought a hunter, someone who understands the rules of the supernatural world, would be more appropriate for the position. And I did sacrifice a part of myself I was rather fond of, so I suppose I had the right to ask for a favor.'

'Dude,' Dean stares at him incredulously. 'So you think I will always behave cause I owe you?'

'My initial reaction wasn't that well thought out,' Castiel admits.

'What, cutting off your pinkie?'

'Yes, freeing you, essentially. It was just something I felt I should have done,' the witch turns his back on him, putting cream in his mug. 'But later, I assumed that yes, you would have the decency to not betray me, considering that I have rescued you.'

'I'm a hunter,' Dean points out, mulling it over. 'We might as well be enemies.'

'Yes,' Castiel nods, putting the mug in front of Dean. 'We might as well be.'

  
  


Two days later, Cas wants him to drive them to the city. Dean's been to the city before - twice - and he likes it. There's bustle and people, and a bar where he stops for a quick drink. The waitress, Daniela, flirts with him, but he's not really into it. It's like the vamps sucked out his libido along with his blood. Some days, the fact that he can't get it up worries him. Most days, he doesn't even think about it. He's just glad to be out. He's glad to be able to step outside and breathe in the fresh air. He's glad to be able to feel the steering wheel under his hands.

'Gators ahead,' he warns, and Cas straightens up in the seat to gaze at the road. Four gators sunbathe in the middle of the muddy road. The jeep comes to a stop. 'You want to jump out there, grab a few feet for your pantry?'

Castiel shoots him a deadly look.

'Okay,' Dean honks the horn, and again, and again. He drives up a bit, but not one gator moves. 'Fuck.'

He leans back in his seat. He doesn't know how to scare off gators. It's hot in the truck even with the windows rolled down, and he's covered in sweat.

'Know any spells for that?' Dean asks.

'I don't have any ingredients on hand,' Castiel replies. 'But some spells can be cast with a strong mind alone.'

Dean nods. 'Get on with it, then,' he gestures to the road.

'It's not that simple,' Cas snaps icily. 'A lot of power is required for spells.'

'Yeah, okay...' Dean trails off, waiting for more.

'I will need your assistance,' the witch says, looking annoyed by the turn of events. 'I wanted to give you time to adjust, first, but it seems we've run out of it.'

He stretches out a hand towards Dean.

'Woah, okay,' Dean backs away in his seat, his elbow hitting the door. 'Listen, how does that - work, exactly?'

Castiel frowns.

'You don't know how being a familiar works?'

'Nope,' Dean shakes his head.

'But-' Cas seems at a loss for words. 'You're a hunter.'

'All I know about witches is how to gank'em,' Dean shrugs. 'No offence.'

'None taken,' Castiel sits back, chewing his lip. He's lost in thought so Dean doesn't say anything either, just stares at the road. 'Witches draw power from familiars.'

'Okay...'

'It's not always a pleasant experience,' he sounds apologetic, now. 'I have to use your emotions.'

'Emotions?'

'Yes,' Castiel nods, watching him seriously. 'I need you to conjure up a memory associated with a feeling, and then relive it.'

'What?' Dean blinks, confused. 'You're the magician, man. I ain't got no powers, this doesn't make any sense.'

Castiel sighs like this entire conversation is painful to him.

'You amplify my powers,' he says slowly. 'If I wanted to move those animals from the road, I could only move one, at best, if I were to work on my own. But if you allow me to use your emotions, I will easily move them all. It gives the spell the force it needs.'

Dean tries to get it, and fails.

'Okay, let's do this,' he replies tentatively. Seeing is believing, right? 'It's not gonna like - damage me, or...?'

'You might feel tired, but I don't think you will, not for this kind of spell,' Cas explains.

'And what kinda emotion you need?'

'Anything, just powerful. Anger would be best.'

'And then what? I think about something that pissed me off, and you touch me and suddenly you're charged like a fucking supernova?' Dean raises his eyebrows, skeptical. He's a little sorry for his mocking voice, but he just can't imagine it working. He's nothing supernatural, he can't supply energy to a witch.

'Yes,' Castiel nods. 'That's exactly how it works. Once you find the memory, I'll put my hand on your shoulder, and you'll be immersed in it. I glimpse it, pull it from you, and then the spell gets cast.'

'Fine,' Dean agrees, nervous but intrigued. If the witch wanted to hurt him, he'd have done it before, so it's probably safe. 'You glimpse it?'

'I see the memory, yes. For a moment, we share your headspace.'

'That's fucked up,' Dean hesitates. They could always just turn around and go back home, and try again tomorrow. Cas must sense what he's thinking, cause he sends him a soft smile.

'If you don't feel ready, we can postpone our trip. I won't insist.'

'No, no, I'm ready,' Dean protests. He's too damn curious for his own good. 'Hit me.'

'Alright,' Cas places a hand on his shoulder. Dean closes his eyes. He's hyper aware of the witch's presence, of his warm, solid palm, of his fingers splayed on Dean's shirt, so close to the skin. A memory, now, though, he has to focus. Something that pissed him off. That's easy enough, he's always pissed. He thinks back to the vamps; feels like a good start. A lot of emotions in those dark corridors and his disgusting cell. He remembers when he broke. It's not what he wants to think about, but it's the memory that hurts the most.

He doesn’t know how long ago it was, but one day, the vamps left the door open, just for a moment, and Dean made a run for it. Naked and with no weapons, and with no strength, he dashed down the corridor, pushing away the vamp he collided with, high on adrenaline and fear. He got past the other cells, but they caught up with him, and the rest was a blur of fangs and punches and pain. He remembers being chained back in his cell and five vamps - half the lair - sucking on him like giant leeches, taking way more than they should, until he felt like he wasn't there anymore. He laid there for days, floating between asleep and awake, too weak to even raise his hand. No light, no company, nothing but the cold chain, reminding him he was still alive.

He cried the second night, and that was when he knew he gave up. He knew they broke him when he started being desperate, hopeful for their daily visit, even though it meant more draining - it was still  _ light  _ and  _ sound  _ and  _ life _ , but he never thought he could give up so easily, he, Dean Winchester, one of the deadliest hunters out there, surrendering to a bunch of bloodsucking fuckers. By the time Cas came for him, he’d lost hope. By the time Cas came, Dean was looking forward to their sharp teeth piercing his skin, because it made him feel something. The things from before - the feeling of a soft sheet, warm water in the shower, a burger at a diner; or something even more inherent, more familiar - the sound of his car, Sam's face, a handful of salt, cleaning his weapons, a glass of amber whiskey gleaming in the lights of the bar; throwing up behind said bar, singing Zeppelin songs at the top of his lungs, spending a night with a hot brunette, drinking beer in Bobby's scrapyard - all of them, they were just vibrant points in the darkness, fuzzy and unattainable, full of color but too distant. He was never going to get out and he was never going to get out and he was never going to get out -

There's a loud  _ whoosh  _ sound like an airplane above, like an airplane _ right  _ above him, and the truck is rocked by a blast that seems to come from it, an invisible-yet-visible shockwave, tinted blue. It clears the way, gators pushed violently into the swamps on the sides of the road, bellowing in annoyance but not in pain.

Dean feels like something wound tight inside of him has just unwound itself. He feels like his entire body is dripping tension. When he touches the steering wheel, it vibrates gently.

'What-' he starts, disoriented. His head hurts. Cas is no longer holding his shoulder; he's leaning close, and saying something, eyes wide and worried.

'-you alright?'

'Yeah,' Dean exhales shakily, his body still trembling. It's weird, it's like nothing he felt before. Tremors, but loaded with something. 'Feel thunderstruck.'

'It was way more powerful than I expected,' Cas admits, glancing out of the windshield. 'The blast cleared the road. I - I've never had this reaction on the first try, with a new familiar.'

Dean tries to focus on Cas. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are shining. What drained Dean, charged him.

'Is it... in you?' he asks, raspy. 'My anger?'

'It wasn't anger,' Cas shakes his head. He looks sympathetic, now. 'It was hopelessness. I'm sorry you had to live through that.'

Dean's mortified and ashamed and disgusted with himself, but before he can form a reply, Cas continues.

'And no, it's not "in me". I'm a conduit. Yes, I have the ability to use magic, the first spark is me, you might say. But that spark can't do much on its own, not without a sacrifice or a familiar or specific ingredients. Your feelings traveled through me and multiplied my intent. About fifty times, I'd wager.'

'Huh,' Dean says, and then opens the door and throws up on the ground.

Now, Cas seems  _ really  _ worried. He holds Dean's hand and Dean clings to it as he heaves, leaning out of the seat. He's so glad he spared the jeep.

Cas's hand feels his forehead. He thinks it must be cold and clammy.

'I'm sorry,' he says, and it startles Dean.

'S'alright,' he replies weakly. 'My choice. Sides, you own me, feels weird if you apologize to me.'

Cas's frown deepens. Dean wipes his mouth, his stomach settling slowly.

'This isn't slavery,' the witch tells him. 'The bond between a familiar and a witch is one of a kind. It's a lot more like...' he glances away, for a moment, and looks embarrassed. 'Ah. Companionship.'

'Okay,' Dean nods, whatever. 'But I'm still tied to you and have to follow what you say.' He points to the bracelet on his wrist.

Castiel sighs.

'There's a lot you need to learn,' he decides. 'I'll explain as much as I can. I thought you a more... prepared participant when I offered you the deal. So I apologize. You didn't know I was going to exploit your emotions, and I didn't know you would be so...'

_ pathetic _ , Dean thinks,  _ say it. _

'Potent.' Cas finishes. Dean has a dirty joke at the tip of his tongue, but then his stomach cramps again. He groans.

'I hate this,' he admits.

'We'll train, and it won't be so taxing,' Cas promises, and gets out of the truck. Dean watches him dazedly, but Cas just walks around the jeep and gets in from Dean's side. 'Move, I'll drive.'

'You can't drive,' Dean protests half-heartedly, already scooting over. If  _ he  _ were to drive now, he'd steer righ into the swamp, he knows it. 'Man, I feel like shit.'

Cas starts the car and drives on the road that they cleared - that Dean cleared. Using his fucking PTSD. He closes his eyes, and shudders as he remembers it, the blast, the release of the tension, the sudden feeling of emptiness, of being completely wrung out. But he did that.  _ He  _ did that. How many monsters can be killed with something like that? Just his emotions, and Cas?

His body slowly accepts that he's a familiar, apparently, cause he doesn't feel like he'll puke any minute now. He squints his eyes open, warily, but the pounding in his head goes away as well, and he can look at the scenery. And at Cas, who's glancing back at him and then focusing on staying on the road. The car swerves from time to time, but Dean thinks he's doing a good job.

'Change the gears,' he tells Cas, who does it, and the engine stops rattling so horribly.

'Are you feeling better?'

'I guess,' Dean sticks his arm out of the window. He spots more gators in the water, their green bodies blending with the green, murky surface. God, he loves the swamps, even if he doesn't know why.

'It always fades rather quickly,' Cas says, and smiles at him. Despite still being worried - which is touching, Dean thinks - he looks radiant. He looks hot.

'I'm glad we're in the sun,' he adds. 'Your memory was very claustrophobic. I felt as if I would never see the light again.'

'Spot on, then,' Dean replies flippantly. 'I don't wanna talk about, ever again.’

  
  
  


When they get to town, it's still early, but Cas leads him to the bar. Dean sways on his feet even though he tries hard not to look like a loser. Cas sits him down by the table, in the glorious, air-conditioned room, and calls for Daniela.

She arrives, sweet  _ and  _ sinful with her wide hips and a shirt that doesn't leave much to the imagination. Dean approves wholly - it's so hot outside, why would she cover up? It's only sensible, and usually, he likes sensible women. But he still doesn't feel interested, which is just uncanny.

'Hey, guys,' she says, and then frowns at him, slumped over the table. 'Dean?'

'Just tired today,' Dean explains, waving his hand.

'Dean'll have some vodka,' Cas tells Daniela, and she glances between them.

'I will?' Dean raises his eyebrows. 'Thanks, Cas.'

'I didn't know you two were together!' Daniela shakes her head, her brown ponytail bouncing. She has shiny hair, would be nice to touch, Dean thinks. It usually smells like apples - when he was drinking his sorrows away the two times he hit the bar, she leaned closer and asked him all kinds of questions, and they talked a lot about music and drinks. At some point, she was so close, Dean thought they were gonna kiss, her brown eyes teasing and hopeful.

It was Dean who ruined it, pulling away and mumbling some excuse about needing to go. Now, she sends him a coy smile, and Dean berates little Dean.

_ this is the time, man,  _ he thinks.  _ are you not seeing what i'm seeing? _

Little Dean remains dead in his pants. Fine. The vamps took that as well, it seems.

'I won't bother Dean anymore,' Daniela promises, and Dean snaps out of it. She's saying that to Cas, who merely nods in reply, looking... satisfied? Fuck, Daniela knows he's a witch.  _ "Didn't know you were together" _ . She knows Dean's his familiar! Wait, are familiars not allowed to flirt, now? That's an interesting piece of information, Dean thinks. Something Cas might've thought to mention before.

Maybe it's cause of the emotion thing. Maybe Dean needs to remain chaste, or whatever. Or maybe Cas doesn't want to  _ glimpse  _ Dean getting it on. Kinda uncomfortable, now that he thinks of it. Cas seeing him have sex. Kinda awkward, yeah, definitely, but also, kinda - hot?

'Here,' three shots of vodka are placed in front of him, and Dean realizes he spaced out, again. Cas gets something else - water, probably, the nerd - and tells Dean to drink.

The taste is barely there, as always, but it burns nicely, sobering him up. Bottoms up.

'It'll help your stomach,' Cas says, sipping his ice water.

'I feel helped already,' Dean assures him, all three shots gone. 'I think you're gonna have to drive us back, though.'

'Yes,' Cas sighs, but instead of irritated, he seems amused. 'Please do inquire. I'm sure you have questions.'

Yeah. Dean plays with one of the glasses. Where to start?

'Will it always be just a random feeling?'

'No,' Cas shakes his head. 'Some spells require specific feelings. For example, healing and luck spells usually ask for happiness. But spells used for revenge, they need anger or sadness.'

'You sell revenge spells?'

'That's the most wanted item on the market,' Cas smiles wryly. 'It's not my favourite.'

'Then why do it?'

'I only do it when I deem it reasonable. Revenge on abusers, on thieves.'

'So you're playing God,' Dean scoffs.

'To tell you the truth, sometimes I wonder if  _ God  _ is playing God, or if he's too busy to care,' Cas tips the bottle to his lips and Dean watches his throat bob as he swallows, until Cas puts the bottle back on the table. 'I do believe that if I have the skills to tip the scales towards justice, I ought to use them.'

Huh. Dean agrees with that. Ain't that what he's been doing his entire life?

'But I think you understand the notion,' Castiel's gaze seems intense. Dean's not feeling as weak as before, so he levels it with his own. 'A hunter, someone who continuously searches for evil and eliminates it.'

'My dad got me into it,' Dean shrugs. 'But yeah, sometimes - sometimes you're the only person who can help. So why not help?'

'Exactly,' Castiel leans back. His blue eyes are still boring into Dean. 'I think your recent experiences would be a perfect mine for strong emotions.'

'So what, I'm supposed to charge you with snapshots from my personal bloodsucker Shawshank?' Dean scowls. This is like forced shrink sessions, except worse, cause Cas will see it all in his head.

'Perhaps.'

'Can I do it on my own?' Dean asks, a little eagerly. He still thinks of the gators, pushed aside by the blast. The sheer force of it... coming from Dean's head, from his emotions. It makes him feel strong.

'No,' Castiel replies, and Dean sighs. Of fucking course. 'I'm sorry, but without me to execute it, you're like a... bullet without a gun.'

'So you put me inside you and then you shoot the shot?'

'Metaphorically,' Cas's eyes twinkle and he looks way too amused for Dean's liking. 'Yes.'

Dean sulks a little.

'You can learn to do it nearly effortlessly,' Castiel tells him, and puts his hand on the table, palm up. 'Think of something less intense than your vampire encounter. Something positive, for example. And then, when you feel it overwhelm you, grab my hand.'

'And what's gonna happen?' Dean asks curiously.

'I think you could move a bottle or a glass, if you focus hard enough. If it's not a very emotional memory, and if I don't cast a spell alongside it, it can simply move objects with its energy.'

'I don't know if I can-' Dean starts. 'I kinda, uh, got lost in it, the last time. But - okay.'

He closes his eyes, feeling stupid. He tries to think about Sam, but all he can see are the vamps. Their heavy weight on his back when they straddled him, their fangs piercing the skin. Their laughter and leering jokes, and Dean's fingers itching for a machete, a knife, a toothpick to stab them with, his hands feebly scraping the ground. But he doesn't feel helplessness - he feels bloodlust. He imagines putting a blade to the vamp's neck and slicing, relentless, until he's covered in blood and-

He feels someone - Cas - grab his hand. Dean opens his eyes just in time to see two of the whiskey bottles at the bar explode. Daniela yelps and jumps away from it.

'Wow,' Dean says, dumbfounded. Cas stares at him, but there's no pity. There’s respect. 

'You can't change what has happened to you, but you can use it to grow.' Castiel tells him, and his eyes seem darker, more dangerous, for a moment. 'You can turn it into power.'

There's more to Cas than meets the eye, Dean decides. Well, besides the fact that he's an ancient witch.

Castiel's gaze is hungry and electric, and he licks his lips, his eyes straying to Dean's for a moment, and then he smiles. Dean smiles back, thrumming with the thrill of it. For the first time in ages, he feels interested in kissing.

But Cas looks away and the spell is broken. He takes out his wallet and leaves a twenty on the table.

‘Let’s go,’ he says, and Dean follows him out of the bar. 

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know much about magic or spells or familiars, but i had this idea one day, of the swamps and emotion spells and cas and dean navigating this relationship, and since then i'm casually writing this fic. i feel like it has such a weird vibe but like... i like it? there's gonna be like 5 chapters total, probably. 
> 
> thanks for reading and let me know what you think! :)


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